


The Masters of the Houses

by PseudoMon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Gen, Gothic, Horror, Horror AU, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24921784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoMon/pseuds/PseudoMon
Summary: Run. Don't think about what killed your father. Don't think about the three houses you found in the forest. Just run. Run!FE3H Horror AU
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	The Masters of the Houses

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this excellent art by @riotbones](https://twitter.com/riotbones/status/1275479279850012672)!

You're running.

_Run_.

Keep running. 

Look back and all you see is the dark and those who slither in it. Keep running. You don't know how close they are, but they're always close, always, in this forest with no light, this forest where the foliage above is so thick you can barely see the night sky above, this forest where every protrusion from the trees seems to want to see you dead.

You run, but as you run, you remember what you try not to remember. Your father, so kind to you, so strong that you had thought nothing could fell him. But then there was the knife in the dark, the inhuman laughter bristling in the air, the shapes in the darkness. You've been running ever since.

Run. Run from the laughter, the knife, the memory of what killed your father, run from the dark and those who slithers in it. 

And run, also, from what you found in the forest, the three houses where you thought you could find safety, solace, a chance to avenge your father. No. They will kill you in different ways, but they will kill you nonetheless.

* * *

The first house you found had crimson walls. A mansion in the woods, covered in vines, a garden untended. Its flowers bloom wild, their thorns will prick you if you look too closely. You knocked on the door, asking for shelter, and you found the mansion's singular occupant. A woman with white hair and thick red coat and a look that was sharp as steel. She bid you in and let you treat her castle as home.

You drank the tea she served and the meal she cooked, unaware of what they were made of. You admired the artworks hanging on her wall, now knowing how they were made. Paintings awashed in red, red like blood, white like entrails.

She was fond of you, beneath the harsh words and the sadness in her eyes. You took her hospitality cautiously but gratefully, and went to wander the crimson palace. Paintings and portraits on the walls, often portraits of herself in different stages of her life. But why does she always look so alone?

You wandered too far. You went to places you should not have entered. A room that smelled of entrails. Knives for killing, knives for butchery, axes to split bone. Blood on the table. Cages with manacles that could only be for human beings.

Suddenly you could almost see their bodies, piling up and then picked apart, put into paintings, to the walls, to the food you have just eaten. You ran. Run, keep running. You found her as she was talking to the undulating mass that slither in the dark and you know you had to go, run.

You can still feel her behind you, can still see the blood in her hand, on her face, the way she grips the axe as you ran, strong enough to split your skull. 

Run! Run, even as you remember the other houses.

* * *

The second house was azure. A cold and foreboding mansion in the woods. Its grounds were barren, as if even the trees stay away from the place, but it gave you space to see moonlight above. You knocked on the door, asking for shelter, a place to rest and hide. You found a bear of a man, an eyepatch on a broken expression. You've never met him before but he looked glad to see you.

He let you in and you made sure to only ask for water this time. The glass he gave you was cold, and so was the chair you're sitting on, the room, the barren wall. He saw you shivering and offered to give you his coat. You made sure the hide was really of animals before you took it. 

You rested. You dared not venture further into the cold dusty halls of the house. The longer you stayed the more chilled you become, even with the coat on your shoulder. This empty house with its empty walls was not a place to be.

And then you began to hear the screams, the shouts, the wailings, the cries, the pleas, the screams, the shouts, the wailings. Slowly at first, but then they were everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. They tore into your ear, your head, your heart. They wanted to blame you for everything, everything, everything, why are you just sitting there why aren't you helping, help!

And then you hear another scream, more real than the others. A scream telling the voices to stop, offering promises to placate them. Yes he would help them, yes he would avenge them, yes he would kill kill kill. But then why does everyone who wanders into his house ends up dead and why wouldn't any one of them tell him why? 

You hear his steps as he marches towards you. You hear the scraping of steel on wood, a weapon in his hand. You threw away the coat he gave you and ran, run, run away from this haunted place. Run.

You can still feel him coming after you, promises to kill in his lips, always getting closer no matter how steadily he walks.

Run. Keep running, even as you remember the third house.

* * *

The third house shines like a golden beacon in this forest of the damned. The garden in front of it was lush and orderly, filled with verdant green and tended with great care, a stark contrast from the rest of the forest. You didn't knock on the door, as there was already someone in the garden for you to greet. A woman with blue hair and vacant stares. She listened to your pleas without a word, then went into the house to fetch her master.

He was friendly, not at all what you expected. He had laughter in his eyes and sweet comforting words in his lips. You felt your fear disappearing as he welcomed you into his home. A woman with pink hair served you drinks, the same dead eyes and silence as the woman in blue, but the master of the house spoke to you and you felt an abundance of life in this house.

He regaled you of stories from his travels to far away land. You could not tell which part of his stories was true and which was made-up, but you did not care. The way he told it was so earnest you could not help imagining them all as true.

He gave you a room to rest for the night, a window open to the lake at the back of the house, far away from the forest and the darkness. You did not think of those who slithers. You did not think of your father, of blood on the knife. You believed stories told by the master of this house will protect you.

You slept a while, but was awakened by steps out in the hall. You felt the old fear brushing your heart and you tiptoed out, to the source of the sound. 

You found him in front of a cauldron, pouring dark-coloured liquid and chanting otherworldly words. He was surrounded by his glassy-eyed companions, who did as he bid them with not a word in reply. 

He turned. He saw you, and you knew he would not let you out of here, not before turning you into one of them. 

You ran. Run. Keep running.

* * *

Run.

_Run_.

You feel the shadows twisting around you. You feel their knife's edges scraping the ground beneath your feet. Your feet are bleeding. You run. You keep running. Tendrils shoot up from shadows to grab your leg, your arms, your neck. Keep running. They haven't caught you yet.

A shadow grabs your ankle.

You fall.

You feel them crawling towards you. You feel the cold pressing of a knife on your back. You remember the blood flowing from your father's wound. 

You hear a yell.

A crack of something split.

The shadow recedes.

The woman in crimson stood before you, an axe at her side. She offers you her hand. 

You see the blood on her face, on her dress, on her axe. You remember the cage in her house, the butcher's knife.

You refuse. You run.

You run until the shadows return, recovered. They shoot their tendrils at you, try to trip you, to slash at your feet so you will not run again. Your leg is weakening. How long can you keep this up?

And then, a roar. 

Someone pulls you close, puts you protectively behind him as he faces the shadows, spear in hand. He growls like an animal and the shadow recedes, but only for a second. 

They strike back, and he fights with a ferocity that is not that of a man. In a moment of respite, for you know they will strike again, he looks at you with forlorn hope in his eyes. He offers you his hand, but you begin to hear the screams, the wailings, the ghosts who command to kill kill _kill_.

You refuse. You run.

You reach a clearing in the woods and, for once, you feel yourself outpacing those who slither in the dark. You collapse, exhausted. You know you cannot rest long, because already you can hear them coming.

You see them slithering closer, moving slowly as if they know they have their quarry now. You try to get up. Run _Run!_ But your legs won't obey you. _Run run run!_ You have run, but you cannot go further.

As they close in, as your heart thumps in your chest, as your fear consumes you, suddenly you see a flash of green and gold. You hear running and then you see people fighting against the shadow. A lean man with purple hair. A sprightly woman with orange hair. A burly man with blonde hair. You thought for a second that you were saved, then you see their vacant expression.

You feel someone helping you up. You turn to see him. The master of the verdant house, a smile on his lips though it does not reach his eyes. He lets you go then pulls an arrow from his back, nock it to his bow and shoots it at the shadows. They recede, but they fight back. He shoots again, chanting spells in his foreign tongue, covering the tips of his arrows in mystical mottled green. His glassy-eyed servants cut the darkness away as they pull back. The screams of the shadows are soundless.

And then,

all is still.

The shadows are gone.

The master of the verdant house smiles at you. He put his bow away and offers you his hand.

You see the lies in his smile.

You hear a rustle.

From the corner of your eyes you see the crimson queen and the azure beast coming into the clearing, their weapons in hand. They see you, and you see how badly they want you. Already they look at each other with murder in their eyes.

You look at the man now offering his hand to you. You see the same hunger in his eyes. You cannot escape any three of them by yourself, but now you see a way out of the horrors of the forest.

You refuse his hand. You run.

You hear the bellow of the azure beast, answered by the battle cry of the crimson queen. You hear the verdant master replying in kind, witchcraft in his breath. 

You run. As they fight, you run.

You think you can finally see the edge of the forest.


End file.
